


It's Cosmic

by darter_blue



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Astrophysicist Bitty, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Sex, Smart Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-28 10:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12604792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue
Summary: Jack, on his daily run, is hit by a tiny blond ray of sunshine, and falls almost instantly in love.Bitty is an astrophysicist and has no idea who Jack Zimmermann is, but fate (the cosmos?) is pretty adament that these two just belong together.Fluffy (eventual) smut comissioned by the great kalee60 (this is for you Neil!!)





	1. Jack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalee60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/gifts).



 

Jack is running. Not for his life or anything, just, well because it's his job essentially. Or that is, it's his job to stay in peak physical condition. Because he's a professional athlete. A good one. Great one, actually. And also he’s running because sometimes he just needs to get the hell away from his life. Find a space inside his own head that's empty and safe. He’s running because he loves it. His pace is good, his shins feel good, his heart rate is in the perfect zone, everything is on track for Jack to clear his mind and let go. Until a surprisingly solid wall of small, blond havoc, careens into his path and knocks him on his ass. They both find themselves thrown backwards, Jack a little, his attacker, a lot, and it takes a minute for them both to come to rights and pick themselves up. 

‘Oh my goodness!’ cries the little blond blur, and Jack is resigned to fighting off another crazed fan, albeit one with a syrup thick southern accent and the most beautiful face Jack has ever seen on a man. ‘Oh my Lord, are you okay? That was absolutely all my fault, you poor boy!’ The blond is scrabbling back to a standing position and reaching his hand out to Jack, which he takes in a bit of a daze. He’s impressed with the gall behind being referred to as a boy by someone all of five foot six and a hundred thirty pounds when he himself stands at six foot one of pure, solid muscle (ice hockey is a particularly physically demanding sport, bulk is important and Jack trains hard). 

 

He reevaluates that thought when he gets effortlessly pulled up to standing by the little blond who's now brushing himself off and checking something on his phone, probably glued to his social media, trying to tag Jack in a surreptitious selfie (Jack’s not paranoid, this actually happens to him  _ all the time _ ).

‘Maybe you should be paying less attention to your twitter and more attention to where you’re going,’ Jack says, trying to sound frustrated but he’s too enamoured by the sight of the guy fixing his large, round, tortoiseshell glasses back to their preferred position on his nose. 

‘Oh no! It’s nothing like that, but you’re right, you’re right. I wasn’t looking, There’s just so much incoming data-’ 

‘Data?’ Jack asks, confused. 

‘For my research,’ he said, enthusiasm taking over his previously apologetic tone. ‘I’m tracking the location of cosmic rays using high energy neutrino events taking place in the south pole and we just found a 29th event!! Oh my gosh,’ the southern accent becomes even, charmingly, more pronounced with excitement. Jack allows himself to properly take in the blond’s appearance; a green button down, navy blue waistcoat, ridiculously tight chocolate brown chinos. All that, paired with the glasses, means he certainly doesn’t look like the kind of stalker or paparazzo that Jack normally encounters daily. He definitely, definitely doesn’t  _ sound _ like them. 

‘Uhhh…’ Jack can’t think of a single intelligent thing to say in response. 

‘Oh sorry, sorry...Of course that makes no sense. I just, this is very exciting, I have to go, I have to call…’ He’s distracted and staring at his phone again and as he takes a step, Jack reaches out to grab the guy before he walks out into oncoming traffic.

‘You  _ really _ need to watch where you're going!’ Jack says with a hint of panic.

‘Oh Lord, thank you! I’m just in such a state! But I mean, you can, you know, probably let go of me now…’ Jack looks down and realises he’s holding the poor guy with one arm around his waist. 

‘Of course, of course, sorry about that.’ Jack drops his hands like he’s been burnt and takes a step back. ‘Just, please put your phone down, at least until you've navigated the traffic.’

‘Oh yes, yes,’ he says with a smile, looking right up at Jack through dark lashes and patting him on the arm. ‘I certainly will do that, thank you, honey.’

‘Uh, you’re welcome,’ and before Jack can say anything more the guy is off, thankfully with his phone in his pocket and a final wave over his shoulder as he crosses the road.

 

Jack watches him go with something like awe, captivated by the way the vest accentuates a trim waist that slides into the taut, firm ass trapped beneath the stretched fabric of those chinos. Keeps watching, that is, until he’s startled by a loud honking and realises he himself has almost walked into oncoming traffic. And then, as he gathers his wits and tries to brush off the strange encounter, subsequently notices that there is a card on a badge reel by his feet. He picks it up and turns it over to find the heart shaped, sunkissed, pink lipped, flushed cheeks of the seriously distracted man whom he had just watched rush away. Dr Eric Bittle. Physics department. Boston University. Well, surely he’s going to need this ID, right? And it wouldn’t hurt Jack to run home, have a shower, get dressed into something other than sweaty running gear and shockingly yellow sneakers so that when he shows up at Dr Bittle’s place of work he resembles a well-rounded human being and not a monosyllabic meathead… would it?

 

Once Jack gets there it takes him a while to find the right department. Luckily one of the administrative staff in the physics department is a Bruins fan, recognises Jack and shakily points him in the right direction. Jack is used to people reacting to him like this, with familiarity and fanaticism. He’s not used to people bowling him over and barely even looking at him twice. At appearing delicate but feeling like a solid wall of muscle upon impact. Of thick dark lashes behind big, round glasses blinking at him with intense excitement over nothing to do with hockey. Jack is smitten, Jack wants more…

 

‘Hello?’ he calls out to a room full of papers and computers. 

‘Hello?’ a voice calls back, warm, southern. Lovely.

 

‘Uh, Doctor Bittle?’

 

‘Yes?’ A head pops out from behind one of the computers, ‘oh! Hi, hello…’ 

Jack stares for a minute, not remembering that he should actually say something instead of standing in the doorway like an idiot. ‘Umm… did you, are you here to see me?’

 

‘Uh, yeah. I thought... I saw...You must have dropped this,’ he says, holding out the ID card.

 

‘What’s that now?’ Doctor Bittle asks, coming over to take a closer look at what Jack is holding. Jack offers him the card and the doctor takes it, eyeing Jack up and down with interest. It feels like he’s being assessed, not physically, but personally. As if it was only now becoming evident that Jack might be the kind of person to return an important item to a stranger. 

‘It seemed important…’

‘Oh, it is,’ Doctor Bittle says gratefully, a quick glance at his work and then back to Jack again. ‘If you think having unlimited access to million dollar equipment seems important.’ He says the last with another glance back at his computer and then surprises Jack with a wink. 

‘I think most people would think that was important, yeah,’ Jack huffs with a laugh, and then tries to back it up with something other than just blatant ogling of the way Eric’s hair is sticking up with (what would appear) countless distracted mussing from the doctor’s own hands. ‘So did you find your… cosmic event… thing?’ Oh  _ crisse _ Jack, the point was to sound  _ intelligent. _

‘Oh yes! The, neutrino event, It’s, oh here, let me show you.’ He waves Jack over to the computer he’s situated at. ‘So we have a telescope in the south pole - the “Ice Cube” - that searches for violent astrophysical sources,’ Jack listens intently, trying desperately to focus on Eric’s words and not be distracted by the distinct scent of vanilla that seems to linger in his hair, and the warmth that’s radiating from him. ‘So, for instance, an exploding star will create high energy particles-’

‘-an exploding star, like a black hole?’

‘Right, darlin’, like a black hole, and the particles created, neutrinos, well they’ll travel with very little deflection, because they're so light see, having almost no matter,’ Jack nods along, understanding so far, also transfixed by the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of Eric’s nose and completely unable to look away, ‘and we can track their path back to the event and use the information to map out origins of cosmic rays.’ Eric says this with a flourish, gesturing at the data on his screens, which means absolutely nothing to Jack but is nevertheless impressive.

‘And cosmic rays are a big deal?’ asks Jack, as much to keep Eric talking as to better understand the experiment. Eric’s eyes light up at the mention of them.

‘Oh, cosmic rays! Well they, I mean I won’t bore you with the details, but let's just say that determining their origin could help us uncover the secrets of the big bang!’ His enthusiasm is electric. It creates some crazy magnetic force that Jack is helpless to resist. It’s not until the doctor looks up at Jack from under those killer lashes, brown eyes wide and luminous, that he realises how little distance separates them. 

‘And so I guess this event, is uh, exciting for your research?’ Jack asks quietly, conscious that he is at least half a foot taller than Eric and almost twice as wide, just muscle mass alone. 

‘Definitely, yes. Sorry,’ Eric’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, he looks flushed all of a sudden, ‘I didn’t catch your name…’

‘It’s Jack,’

‘And do you have a last name, Jack?’

‘Zimmermann, Jack Zimmermann.’ Jack waits for a hint of recognition to spark in Eric. It’s true that not everyone is a hockey fan, but Boston is a hockey town and the Zimmermann name is a legacy, hockey royalty. Not to mention that people love a scandal, and no hockey scandal has been bigger than the son of the great Bad Bob Zimmermann overdosing right before he was scheduled to go first in the draft, coming back from a year in rehab (not only for the abuse of the anti-anxiety medication but also the breakdown that preceded it) to win the Calder for best rookie in his first year with the Bruins, the Hart for most valuable in his second year with back to back Stanley Cups going into his third year and then topping it all off, by being the first player in the NHL to ever come out as Bisexual. He was used to getting accosted by just about everybody.

‘Well, Mister Zimmermann, thank you kindly for bringing this back to me, I would have been in an awful fix without it.’ Eric is looking up at him, making no move to pull away. 

‘It was my pleasure,’ Jack says, the timber of his voice dropping significantly. 

‘What, coming here and gettin’ swept up in all this mumbo jumbo? Lord no. I’ll have to think of a better way to make it up to you.’

‘I don’t know, I’ve had a pretty good time,’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Jack replies with a smile. 

‘Professor Bittle?’ a voice interrupts from the door. Eric and Jack both look up to find a student standing, mouth open comically wide, three or four binders in his hands. 

‘Chowder, honey!’ Eric jumps back and makes his way to the door. ‘Now is not a good time.’

‘But, Prof, why… do you… what’s going on in here?’

‘Christopher Franklin Chow, you can schedule an appointment just like everybody else, thank you very much.’ Eric drawls, vowels pulled long and languid with emphasis. He leans into the student and lowers his voice some, ‘You come and talk to me in an hour, child, when my actual consultation time starts.’

‘Professor, Jack Zimmermann is in your office!!’ The student, Chow, stage whispers with unprecedented dramatic flair. 

‘Just shoo,’ he waves him out the door, looking back at Jack with some curiosity, ‘come back later, honey,’ he says, pushing him out and closing the door on him. ‘Sorry about that,’ he walks back over to Jack, ‘that’s one of my more, ah, enthusiastic students.’ He finishes with a fond shake of the head. Jack can see that he wants to ask why on Earth his student knows who Jack Zimmermann is and why it would warrant that kind of reaction. Jack deflects by asking Eric a question instead.

‘Are you even old enough to be a Professor?’ Jack watches the flush creep through Eric’s face. 

‘There’re no age restrictions you know,’ he countered. ‘But I am twenty seven, Mister Zimmermann.  I may have earned my doctorate a little earlier than some people.’ Jack can’t help being impressed. He has an undergraduate degree in history that he’d attended online, mostly in his off seasons, which took him almost six years to earn. It would appear Eric has managed a doctorate and enough years behind him to reach being a Professor whilst still being three years Jack’s junior. 

‘You’re amazing,’ Jack says, sure that his grin is ridiculously wide. 

‘I’m really not,’ Eric says, looking quickly away and shuffling his feet, ‘I promise I’m extremely boring.’ Jack just shakes his head at the protest. When the phone in his pocket starts vibrating, Jack realises that it’s his alarm. This is the time that he should be getting up from his nap, being that he has a game tonight. 

‘Merde,’ he curses, ‘Nom de dieu.’

‘Est-ce que ca va?’ Eric asks. It’s not until Jack replies that, yes, he’s okay but he has to go, that he realises they are speaking French. This has been quite an extraordinary day. ‘Okay, well, it was very nice to meet you, Jack Zimmermann. If you ever feel like getting a crash course in astrophysics you just come on back to me, ya’ hear?’

‘I might hold you to that, Professor,’ Jack says, blush rising in his own cheeks. They shake hands, perhaps letting their fingers linger just a little longer than etiquette would deem appropriate. ‘Good luck with your cosmic rays.’ Eric smiles and Jack can feel its warmth like the sun. 

  
  


He texts his best friend, Shitty Knight, in an effort to offload some of the tension that has settled around his chest. It’s tension very unlike his normal experience, anticipation bred from hope rather than fear. But still, he wants to share it, free himself of any distraction before being expected to perform on the ice in front of a home crowd. 

JZ: Do you know much about cosmic rays?

SK: Bro? wtf? you watching crazy netflix documentaries again?’

JZ: No, I’m at the astrophysics department at BU. 

SK: Shouldn’t you be napping?

JZ: More important things to do

SK: Sorry, again wtf? more important than keeping to your pre game schedule? who is this really?

JZ: Shitty, no lie, I just met the man I’m going to marry.


	2. Bitty

Bitty long ago resigned himself to remaining tragically single. It wasn't that he didn't like dating, he loved going out for dinner, first kisses, butterflies, all the lovely dating feelings. He didn't, however, love being told he was boring, he was a workaholic, he was emotionally unavailable.

And really, while it's true he can teach nineteen year olds to legitimately understand complex theories of magnetohydrodynamics, he isn't great at remembering to lock the house, not leave his keys in the car, or pay his electricity bill. Bitty’s best friend is his mother (well, and his comically stoic lab partner from junior year, Larissa). He has his moomaw on speed dial. He stress bakes copious amounts of apple pie and regularly intercedes in raging familial arguments about jam. Bitty is not what you might call, a ‘catch’.

  
But maybe the universe is trying to pay back some giant karmic debt. Because a dark, handsome stranger (was handsome an appropriate enough word for that chiselled jaw, the ice blue eyes, the strong, sharp nose, shoulders to rival a greek god, physicality of an elite athlete?) had been thrown right into his path. And then saved his life (with a warm, muscular arm around his waist). And then followed him to his office to return his ID card, preventing a third and final warning from security about not respecting the severity of his clearance levels.  
And then, if Bitty isn't mistaken, had _flirted_ with him in his office. Not to mention seemed genuinely interested in his research. How is this man real?

  
‘Chowder? Honey? You in here?’ Bitty called, heading into the lab space the honours students were sharing for the year.

  
‘Bitty?’ Chowder comes rushing out from behind the Gamma Ray Spectrometer with an expression of intense excitement and anticipation. ‘Prof, what happened? Is Zimmermann still with you?’

  
‘Ah, no. Actually I’d like to talk to you about that,’ Bitty says, twisting his hands together in a nervous gesture inherited from his mother.

  
‘Me?’ Chowder asks incredulously, ‘you want to ask me about what you were doing in your office with Jack Zimmerman?’

  
‘No, bless your heart, honey, I want to ask you how you even know who Mister Zimmerman is in the first place.’

  
‘What do you mean? Is this a trick question?’ Chowder must see something reflected in Bitty’s expression to indicate that it is not, in fact, a trick question. ‘Professor Bittle, everybody knows who Jack Zimmermann is,’ he says with something like exasperation.

Which, well, how dare he be exasperated with Bitty! Chowder was the one to come into _his_ office and interrupt a _very_ nice conversation that Mister Zimmermann, spectacular specimen of manhood, saviour of waywardly walking astrophysicists, had then fled from, without leaving so much as even a phone number.

Bitty’s face must betray some semblance of the irritation he’s feeling, because Chowder takes half a step backwards, grasping for his phone from the counter and typing something into it quickly. He then holds it out for Bitty to see the screen lit up by the website NHL.com. Right underneath the heading, ‘most searched players’, is a picture of Jack Zimmermann, #1, Boston Bruins. In the backdrop he can see a dark-haired man in full hockey gear (or what Bitty assumes is such, he has no factual knowledge to back that theory up) on the ice.The foreground is a headshot he fully recognises as the startlingly attractive man he met today.

  
‘NHL, is that ice hockey?’ Bitty asks, needing confirmation of his assumption. Chowder looks at Bitty with disbelief.

  
‘You don’t, Prof… you really didn’t know who he was?’ Bitty shakes his head, not quite managing to keep his frustration from showing. ‘What was he even doing in your office?’ He asks again. Bitty decides it's easier just to tell him.

  
‘I literally ran into the man on the street today.’ Bitty says, Chowder listening with rapt attention. ‘He bowled me right over, stopped me from walking into traffic and then brought me my ID card when I left it in the street.’ Chowder is now staring, mouthing the word ‘wow’ with exaggerated fervour.

  
‘Bitty,’ he whispers.

  
‘Chowder.’

  
‘You ran into Jack Zimmermann…’ he’s still whispering, ‘and he stalked you here to return your card?’

  
‘Chowder!’ Chowder has turned away from Bitty though, and is typing something into his phone. ‘He did not _stalk_ me, Chowder, who are you texting?’ Bitty tries to get a look at the screen around Chow’s shoulder. ‘The poor boy simply came to return something important, Christopher, put that phone down!’

  
‘Dex is gonna go crazy, he loves Jack Zimmermann. Prof Bits, he was totally into you! You should have seen his _face_!’

  
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Bitty says, almost as a defence. But the thing is, he’s not sure he believes Chowder _is_ being ridiculous. He remembers _exactly_ how Jack was looking at him. He can feel it still, churning around in his tummy like a mass of kinetically energised particles. ‘And, anyway, thanks to you, I’ll probably never see him again.’ He says the last with a dramatic sigh.

  
‘You know he has a game tonight, right?’ Chowder says, gesturing surrender when Bitty glares at him. ‘Okay, you probably didn’t know that, but I’m telling you now, Prof. You could go, there’re still tickets available.’ Bitty raises his eyebrows at the idea. ‘Like, only the expensive ones, but it’d be worth it, don't you think?’

Bitty doesn’t need long to decide that, in fact, yes, it would be worth it.

  
He makes his way back to his office to google the tickets and work out how to procure them. And then double takes at the price. Chowder was not kidding, the cheapest tickets he can find are well over a hundred dollars. And of course the seats are right up against the ice. Bitty shuts his eyes tight as he hits the button to buy. One ticket, tonight at seven o’clock. Lord Eric, what are you getting yourself into…

  
He uses all the available time he has before the game to research hockey. The rules, the players, the Bruins team specifically. He memorises statistics, compiles lists of names, dates, and terms in his head. He thinks he might have a hold on it, but won't be able to put his ideas into practice until he can actually see the game in front of him. Meanwhile he spends far too long trying to find an appropriate outfit for a sports game that the sexiest man alive (according to a national poll, not just Bitty, it’s evidentiary), who potentially has a romantic interest in him, will be playing. Bitty has no precedent for such a situation.

  
‘Larissa!’ he bellows into the phone, as soon as his friend picks up her end of the line. ‘What in sweet baby Jesus’ name am I supposed to wear to an ice hockey game?’

  
‘Ahh, hello to you too, Bits.’

  
‘Larissa!’

‘Alright, alright. Umm, I’m gonna say a hockey jersey?’

‘I don’t have a hockey jersey!’ he says, exasperated.

  
‘Jeans? A sweater? Why you stressing?’

  
‘I um, I may be sort of reciprocally stalking someone…’

  
‘I’ll bite. Who ya stalking?’ she asks, he can hear her laughing away from the speaker.

  
‘Jack Zimmermann,’ Bitty answers, lip firmly pressed between his teeth. The laughter stops abruptly.

  
‘And you said, reciprocally stalking? As in, Jack Zimmermann has been stalking you?’

  
‘Not _stalking_ , stalking,’ he amends. He regales Larissa with the same information he had given Chowder earlier. She hums quietly into the phone, contemplating the new information.

  
‘Okay. _Tight_ jeans. You still have that black and white striped crewneck sweater your douche ex gave you for christmas that year?’

  
‘Uh, yeah, it’s in the back of the closet somewhere…’

  
‘Okay, tight jeans, that sweater and your grey pea coat.’ Bitty does as instructed and puts the outfit together, admitting to himself that it looks nice. ‘Good luck, Bits.’

  
‘Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll call you after, okay?’

  
‘Yeah. You fucking better.’

He hangs up with a smile and orders his ride to Boston Garden, his knee bouncing erratically as he waits.

  
When he actually makes it to the stadium, he’s too nervous to eat or drink (he’s never been much of a drinker anyway) so he makes his way to his allocated seat and waits. And waits.

The seats fill up around him and players make their way onto the ice. Bitty recognises them as Boston from his research (this must be a warm up, it’s not yet gone six thirty) and he recognises Jack from the number on his back. There are empty seats all around Bitty and he is suddenly aware of how much he probably stands out to the players on the ice. And just as that thought forms, Jack turns, looks up and catches Bitty’s eye with a shock of recognition. Bitty’s breath hitches as a smile breaks wide and unabashed across Jack’s face. Bitty gives a small wave, a short, sweeping motion at chest level and Jack returns it, bigger and bolder.

One of his teammates notices and looks to be asking him about it, turning his face up to Bitty in the stands with a smile just as wide and joyful as Jack’s. His wave is even more pronounced than Jack’s and Bitty responds by hiding his nose and mouth behind the fist of his hand, ducking his head and looking up sheepishly over the rim of his glasses before pressing them up at the bridge of his nose. Jack laughs and his teammate, (number seven, Alexei Mashkov, Bitty remembers) throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes good naturedly.

Bitty’s nerves slowly transition into excitement as the night progresses, warm up through to face off, through each third in which Jack manages to score three goals (a very impressive hat trick, Bitty read about those) and suddenly the game is over and an attendant is coming up to Bitty’s seat, asking him to follow him out to the locker rooms where Jack has requested his presence. By the time Jack meets him, he is freshly showered and in a sharply expensive suit, looking every bit as sexy as his title would have him believe.

  
‘Mister Zimmermann,’ Bitty says by way of greeting.

  
‘Doctor Bittle.’ Jack replies, voice low and smile sly.

  
‘Well I’m sure you remember me saying I’d be making up for your kindness today, Jack.’ Jack’s smile pulls wide. ‘So I thought I might offer to buy you a celebratory drink.’

  
‘I don’t really drink,’ Jack says, shuffling his feet a little, ‘and I’m not much for going out really…’

  
‘Ah-’

  
‘But you could come back to my place?’ he cuts Bitty off before he even gets to lament the rejection, ‘for coffee maybe? Or a cup of tea?’ And how could Bitty possibly refuse?

 

 

 

‘You have a lot of tea here, Mister Zimmermann.’ Bitty takes in the aluminum canisters lined up neatly along the impressively large, natural timber benchtop of Jack’s kitchen. A beautiful, kaleidoscopic, china teapot sits beside them, inviting Bitty to boil some water and get brewing.

  
‘I’m not much of a drinker, and I can’t really have coffee more than once a day during hockey season,’ Jack fills the kettle with water and places it in the base to switch it on, ‘so it’s nice to have something more interesting than water in the house.’

  
‘Oh my,’ Bitty whispers as he opens one of the canisters and breathes in the scent of cinnamon, peach and vanilla, ‘this smells just like my moomaw’s peach cobbler.’

  
‘It’s Hunters Tea, they have all different spice combinations in their Autumn collection.’

Bitty’s heard of the organic tea company and smiles at the idea of this boy taking such care in his tea ministrations. Jack measures out a tablespoon of the leaves into the infuser of the pot and grabs two mugs that carry a matching pattern to the teapot. He waits for the boiled water to cool some, before adding it to the pot. Bitty watches him move about the kitchen, transfixed by his gentle strength and quiet confidence.

  
‘Jack?’ Bitty looks up as Jack catches his eye and raises an eyebrow. ‘Is it okay to tell you that I’m a little bit nervous?’

  
‘You are?’ Jack asks, putting the kettle down and giving Bitty his full attention. Bitty nods his response, twisting his hands restlessly.

  
‘I am. A lot actually, to tell the truth. It’s been a while… I’m not really... _good_ at this.’

  
‘At which part?’ Jack asks, taking a step closer.

  
‘At, well, all of this. At dating, I guess.’

  
‘Do you mind if I tell you, I don’t believe that’s true at all?’ Jack takes another step forward and reaches to lift Bitty’s hand from where it rests on the counter, pressing their palms together and interlocking their fingers. Bitty watches their hands join, feeling the charge that builds there. He looks back up at Jack and sees in his countenance, not so much a hunger, as a contentment. ‘So far, everything about you is perfect.’

  
Bitty exhales with a soft exclamation, too caught up in the pull of Jack’s affection to make any kind of rebuttal. He pushes up onto his toes, using his clasped hand as leverage and reaching with the other to glide up and over the solid muscle of Jack’s arm. Jack leans down to meet him halfway and their lips find each other with the same magnetism that has been drawing them together all day.

There’s no rush, just a soft pressure, warm, moist and as charged as their hands seemed to be. Jack’s free arm snakes around Bitty’s waist so that it almost feels like they’re dancing. Bitty sucks gently at Jack’s bottom lip and Jack opens his mouth to him, their tongues sliding across each other, tasting, searching, finding. Jack pulls back a little and Bitty chases his gasp, escalating things with fingers finding their way under Jack’s dress shirt and tracing the smooth heat of his bare skin.

Bitty should be worried, should be talking himself round in circles. Usually, in situations like this, Bitty is a mess of second guessing and clumsy fumbling. But Jack is like a lightning rod, drawing Bitty's focus, giving him purpose. And he has no doubts that this is right, it's no mistake. 

Jack pulls away to grab Bitty and place him up on the counter, pressing himself between Bitty’s legs and tugging at his sweater until it is up and over Bitty’s head, discarded somewhere behind them. Jack’s eyes light up as they rake over Bitty, and Bitty, well he’s plum forgotten to be nervous at all.

  
‘How are you real?’ Jack says breathlessly. Bitty laughs with a surprising, joyful pleasure.

  
‘I think that’s meant to be my line,’ but Jack shakes his head.

‘You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’ Bitty fights the urge to curl up self-consciously. He feels as if he should be embarrassed, Jack is so physically impressive it’s ridiculous, but the adoration in Jack’s gaze is giving him confidence. Running and swimming have kept his body trim and toned, his mind sharp, offering a catharsis from his often stressful academic schedule, and he appreciates that effort now that he is faced with the stunning upper body of the god-like figure under his fingertips.

  
‘Thank you, Jack,’ Bitty whispers with a smile, ‘you’re pretty alright yourself, you know.’ Jack rushes forward to put his mouth on Bitty again, inching along Bitty’s jawline, nipping gently at the soft skin of Bitty’s throat below his ear, finding that sweet spot with his tongue that sends Bitty’s hips up to thrust involuntarily into Jack’s. The low moan that rips from Jack is gorgeous and so, so satisfying, Bitty can’t help but do it again.

  
‘ _Crisse_ Eric, I don’t want to scare you off by moving too fast here.’ Bitty can hear the desperation in Jack’s voice and it’s so sweet and hot, he wants to push and push to hear it more.

  
‘ <You mean by letting you fuck me right here on your kitchen bench?>’ Bitty has switched languages, because for some reason he finds it easier to be brazen in French. Jack moans even louder and longer at Bitty’s response and nods his head into Bitty’s shoulder. ‘Do you want me to stay tonight, Jack?’

  
‘<Yes>’ he says softly in French, still buried in the crook of Bitty’s neck.

  
‘Do you want to hold me while we sleep together?’

  
‘<God yes>’ He kisses back up to that sweet spot as he nods in affirmation.

  
‘Do you want to make me breakfast in the morning? Let me wear your pajamas? Maybe kiss my cheek softly while I brush my teeth in your bathroom?’

  
‘<I do> _’_ he runs his hands up Bitty’s stomach, over his chest and up to his face to cup his jaw, ‘<I really do> _ _’__

  
‘Then I think maybe we’re on the same page, sweetheart.’ Bitty says, leaning in and kissing Jack with an open mouth. He feels Jack smiling, relishes the gentle bite of his teeth in Bitty’s lip. He reaches down to the fly of Jack’s pants and makes light work of getting it open.

  
‘Wait, Eric, give me thirty seconds,’ Jack says, pulling away reluctantly, ‘please don't go anywhere.’

  
Bitty nods with a grin and leans back onto his elbows on the counter. He watches Jack kick his pants and underwear off as he darts into (presumably) the bedroom and comes back, perfectly naked, with a condom and lubricant.

Bitty laughs at the eagerness in Jack’s efforts and Jack responds with a kiss so fierce Bitty forgets to breathe. He pulls back to slide Bitty’s Keds off and throw them to the floor, peeling his jeans down and tossing them also. He kisses back up Bitty’s calf along his inner thigh, mouthing at his cock through the fabric of his underwear before pulling at those too and discarding them just as indelicately. Bitty’s brain is furiously switching between acknowledging the absolute pleasure his body is feeling, and being overwhelmed that he gets to have this, experience this, at the hands of someone so gorgeous and so lovely.

  
Jack slides back up to Bitty so that their eyes are level, wrapping Bitty in his arms, engulfing him. His grin is wild.

  
‘Eric,’ Jack says reverently.

  
‘Bitty.’

  
‘Bitty?’

  
‘You can, if you like, you can call me Bitty, Jack. That’s, well it’s what my friends call me.’

  
‘Your friends...’

  
‘I mean, the people I care about, they get to call me Bitty.’ Jack’s expression at now being included under that description, is pure happiness.

  
‘ _Bitty_ , I was going to ask, can I suck you, while I open you up?’ Bitty’s poor little brain just about explodes.

  
‘ _Lord_ yes,’ he manages to gasp.

  
‘And then fuck you?’ Jack asks, eyes bright at the prospect.

  
‘ _Absolument_ ’. He kisses Jack to highlight his enthusiasm.

  
‘ _Bien, tres bien_.’

  
‘Sweet Jesus, your accent is the sexiest thing, Jack,’ he laughs between kisses. Jack shakes his head fondly, as if he doesn’t believe Bitty, or that he might argue the point if he didn't have more important things to do.

Like lay Bitty back against the counter and follow his hands with his mouth as he makes his way down his body, taking time to bite at Bitty’s nipple and then hip before swallowing him all the way down until Bitty hits the back of Jack’s throat. His spine arches in shock at the sudden, enveloping warmth of Jack’s mouth around his cock. And the gentle pressure of his finger along Bitty’s perineum is almost too gratifying.

Bitty’s hips roll up into Jack’s mouth where he works at Bitty with his tongue and cheeks, and then back onto Jack’s fingers where they press into Bitty, getting him ready for Jack to fuck him in earnest.

  
‘Jack, Jack, Jack,’ Bitty gasps softly, ‘you have to stop or I’m gonna come.’

  
‘That’s sort of the point, Bitty,’ Jack says, hand taking over from his mouth, stroking, as he speaks.

  
‘No, I want to wait until you’re inside me.’ Jack’s eyes close as he nods fervently in agreement, letting go of Bitty to roll the condom onto himself and then crowds into and over Bitty on the bench, sliding slowly inside as Bitty bears down to take all of him. And there’s _a lot_ to take. ‘Oh my god, Jack, yes,’ he hums softly. Jack draws Bitty up to him so that their chests are flush.

  
‘You feel _so_ good,’ Jack whispers into Bitty’s ear, nipping it gently. Bitty closes his eyes and gives himself over to sensation.

  
The pleasure of Jack inside him, fingers of one hand delicately rolling Bitty’s nipple, the other pressed firmly into Bitty’s back, holding him close and taking all of his weight effortlessly, Jack’s nose nuzzling against Bitty’s, their mouths open against each other, breaths escalating, soft sounds escaping together, is all permeated by the scent of peaches and vanilla. Bitty is positive that he has never felt better in his life than he does in this moment.

Jack doesn’t even need to touch Bitty before his orgasm hits, painting up his chest and a little on his chin.

  
‘Fuck,’ Jack gasps and his orgasm rips through him, hand traveling through the come on Bitty’s chest with relish. ‘Can’t wait till I can lick this off you, Bitty.’

  
‘Jesus, Jack,’ Bitty is breathless at the visualisation of that suggestion, ‘you are amazing.’

  
‘ _You_ are amazing. I told you. Perfect. Nothing to be nervous about.’ Jack’s smile is full of lazy satisfaction. ‘We should go shower though.’ Bitty laughs and agrees.

  
‘Lord, I am a _mess_.’ Jack just leans in and kisses him again, delicate with Bitty now, all smiles and gentle touches.

  
‘Come on, I’ll clean you up.’ He pulls out and gets rid of the condom. Bitty allows Jack to help him down from the bench gingerly and they both head into the ensuite, where the biggest shower Bitty has ever seen (two shower heads _and_ an adjustable hose) is waiting for them.

  
It’s not until later, with Jack wrapped around him, both of them dressed in soft sleep pants, that Bitty ponders on how easy this is. Easy and comfortable.

  
‘Jack, hey, Jack,’ Bitty whispers, wrestling Jack from the brink of sleep, ‘is this, are we a thing now? Like, together?’ Jack squeezes him even tighter and buries his head into the crook of Bitty’s neck.

  
‘Yep,’ he says, pressing a soft kiss there, ‘I don’t think you’ll be able to get rid of me now, Doctor Bittle.’ Bitty turns around so that he’s looking up into Jack’s barely open eyes.

  
‘Pretty sure I’m not ever going to want to.’ He reaches up to kiss him and then snuggles closer.

  
‘ _Bien_ ,’ Jack says quietly, ‘ _tres bien_.’

Bitty waits for Jack to fall asleep before reaching into the pocket of his pants and pulling out his phone. He has a slew of missed emails and data files to catch up on tomorrow and two missed calls from Larissa. The work can wait, but he opens his text thread with Larissa and types her a quick message.

  
EB: Lars, hands down, best night of my life. call you tomorrow xxx

  
He gets a reply almost instantly

  
LD: That good huh? You still there?

  
EB: He’s cooking me breakfast in the morning.

  
LD: And then what?

  
EB: Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast again?

  
LD: Holy shit! Srsly?

  
EB: What’s your take on love at first sight?

  
LD: Eric Richard Bittle!

  
EB: Just thinking about doing some experimental research…

  
LD: This is so unlike you…

  
EB: Yeah, pretty sure my ‘this is the one’ meter is at 90%. Just need to collate some data ;)

  
LD:...

  
EB: Don’t stress Lars, I’m being careful. I just feel really happy rn.

  
LD: ok. I'm watching you though. Call me tomorrow.

  
EB: :)

  
He puts his phone away and crawls back up into Jack’s space until he shifts in his sleep to throw an arm around Bitty. It’s possible he should be worried about how fast this is going, but he just isn’t. Bitty is a smart guy, genius level actually, as determined by a set of pretty rigorously standardised tests. Sinking down into this happiness, letting himself fall in love with a beautiful, kind, generous, determinedly successful man, who's basically seen Bitty at his worst and still thinks he's perfect, feels like the smartest thing that Bitty’s ever done. The proof will just have to be determined by time and consequence. And Bitty is willing to spend the rest of his life coming to that conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it peeps :) 
> 
> Let me know, I love to hear from you <3
> 
> Hi guys,  
> Heads up, there is some dialogue here that is at times in French (italicized), and at others, alludes to being in French (between markers: <>) This is deliberate so as not to break up your understanding of the conversation with the necessity of translation (but also to experience what it might sound like in French, to Bitty).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  [jujubeans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> for being awesome :)


End file.
